Disclaimer for "The Tales of Sol 87C"
Author: Joe (at3unit3@yahoo.com)
This is a fictional story. It is not intended to imply that any members of the Backstreet Boys, Nsync, or 98 Degrees are gay, or that any other celebrities mentioned are homosexual. If you are not old enough to read these stories, please refrain from doing so. The same applies to those in countries where such content is illegal. For everyone else, enjoy!
Copyright Notices:
• Captain Planet and related characters were created by R.E. Turner and are copyrighted by AOL Time Warner Company and trademarked by TBS Productions.
• Babylon 5 and all related characters and props were created by Michael Straczynski and are copyrighted by Warner Bros.
• Star Trek and all related characters were created by Gene Roddenberry and are copyrighted by Paramount.
• Transformers and all related characters and props are trademarked by Hasbro Inc. and copyrighted by Rhino Home Videos and AOL Time Warner Entertainment Co.
• He-Man, She-Ra, and related characters and props are trademarked by Filmation (1980s).
• Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel, and all related characters were created by Joss Whedon and are copyrighted by 20th Century Fox.
• Batman and all related characters were created by Bob Kane and are copyrighted by DC Comics and Warner Bros.
• X-Men and all related characters were created by Stan Lee and are copyrighted by Marvel Comics and 20th Century Fox.
Author's Note: To those who've been reading "Tales of Sol," I want you to know that there is sex in this story. However, that is not its sole purpose. I hope the sex scenes are enjoyable, but the story is meant to express hope and show how music can impact our lives. My favorite bands, 98 Degrees, Backstreet Boys, and Nsync, have seen me through some of the hardest moments of my life and offered hope. To them, I say thank you.
I dedicate "The Tales of Sol" to all my brothers and sisters of the US Armed Services, past, present, and future. I also want to thank my friends who helped with editing and inspiration: John Rivera, Albert-Russ Alan Rivera-Odum, Derbe D. Hunte, Yvette Ortiz, and Samuel Diaz Jr.
Special thanks to:
• James, author of "Tales of a Real Dark Knight"
• Blake, author of "Tales of a New Phoenix"
• Jeremi, author of "Tales of Young Mutants"
AI Use Disclosure: I have entered the 21st century of AI editing, using various AI programs to help with grammar checks, clarity, and improvements to my story. This story was edited with the help of GPT Workspace, Grammarly, Microsoft Copilot, and Quillbot AI software.
References:
• GPT Workspace. (2024, January 9). Version 1.0. [AI tool]. GPT Workspace Inc. https://gptworkspace.com/
• Grammarly. (2024, January 9). Version 5.6. [AI tool]. Grammarly Inc. https://www.grammarly.com/
• Microsoft Copilot. (2024, January 9). Version 2.3. [AI tool]. Microsoft Corporation. https://copilot.github.com/
• Quillbot. (2024, January 9). Version 4.2. [AI tool]. Quillbot Inc. https://quillbot.com/
The Tales of Sol 87C Royal Rumble
The match between John and Randy was in full swing when I entered the buzzing arena. The spectacle of the wrestlers grappling in the ring was not just mesmerizing; it carried an unexpected edge that was strangely compelling. I could not help but think of this soft gay porn. but it was a little more entertaining. The atmosphere was electric, pulsing with a vibrant energy that momentarily made me lose touch with the subtle whispers of the Earth beneath us. The entire arena was charged with so much positive energy that I missed all of the Pings the Earth sent me.
However, my distraction was shattered by a powerful Ping, resonating in my mind like General Quarters an urgent call to action, louder and more insistent than the enthusiastic cheers and the drama unfolding in the ring.
I forced myself to tune out the surrounding excitement, to see beyond the spectacle. My intuition didn't lie; outside, in the shadow of the Spectrum, a nightmare unfolded. Vampires roamed, a horde descending upon unsuspecting victims in the parking lot, their actions fueled by a pang of hunger that chilled me to the bone.
A sense of dread spread through me as I realized that if left unchecked, their terror would soon breach the walls of the Spectrum. Panic flickered in my eyes as I turned to Brian, the urgency of the situation gripping me. "I have to go!" I exclaimed, my voice slicing through the noise.
Brian, initially oblivious, finally caught the gravity of my stance as I grasped his arm. Meeting my gaze, he understood the weight of my words. With a solemn nod, he whispered, "Go," granting me his silent support amidst the chaos.
This intensified scene brings a vivid sense of urgency and emotional depth, enhancing the narrative with a richer portrayal of the unfolding drama.
Stepping out of the arena's lively atmosphere, I found refuge in an abandoned restroom, a place where my transformation could take place unnoticed. With a thought, I summoned the duffel bag hidden in my limo, revealing the attire of Guardian, a symbol of hope and justice. I quickly changed into my superhero outfit, ready to embrace my alter ego once more. Armed with my D'k tahg and a set of stingers, I was prepared to confront whatever evil lurked outside.
As I ventured forth, I was met with an unexpected sight. Three vampires, their fashion frozen in the era of neon colors, shoulder pads, leg warmers, and regrettable mullets, were attacking the guards at the entrance. Their style was rejected back in the 80's. Their outdated style is an assault on the eyes as much as they were on the unfortunate guards. Taking aim with my mini stakes launcher, I couldn't help but quip, "I take this action in the name of good fashion." The stakes flew true, sending the garishly dressed vampires back to the 80s for good. "That is a mark on my gay reputation," I mused, watching the last of the fashion disasters turn to dust. It seems even in the life of a crime-fighter, there's no respite from battling poor taste.
However, my mission was far from over. The entire stadium needed protection from the malevolent force that encircled it. I dashed out of the Spectrum Stadium, the cold embrace of winter greeting me harshly. The chill in the air was biting, a reminder of the season's unforgiving nature. But being born in the winter, I had always found solace in its cold caress. The essence of Captain Planet within me fortified my resistance to the weather's extremes, a blessing that extended beyond mere tolerance.
Despite the allure of the crisp winter air, the presence of vampires circling the stadium pulled me back to reality. Gazing into the cold night, I steeled myself for the battle ahead. "Of course, nothing beats a good fight to get the blood pumping," I declared, the prospect of combat igniting a fire within me. The fight was not just for survival--it was a stand against the darkness that threatened to engulf us all.
As I stood in the biting cold, my attention was abruptly seized by a terrifying scene - two vampires had cornered a woman. Without a second thought, I called out to the night, "Hey, you big bullies, try picking on someone your size!" My voice cut through the chilly air, drawing the attention of the vile creatures.
Before they could comprehend their mistake, I charged at them with all the force of a raging storm. My fist connected with the left vampire with such ferocity that he was catapulted across the parking lot, crashing into a tree five hundred feet away. The impact was so precise; the vampire was impaled on a broken branch, instantly turning to dust as the wooden limb pierced its heart.
The second vampire, driven by rage or perhaps folly, leaped towards me. With agile grace, I dodged and rolled to the left, my hand instinctively reaching for my D'k tahg. In one fluid movement, I unsheathed the delta blade, its edge gleaming in the moonlight as it found its mark across the vampire's neck. The sharp Klingon knife made quick work of the creature, cleaving through its neck as effortlessly as through the cold night air. A look of bewilderment flashed across the vampire's face before its head tumbled from its shoulders, leaving its cursed body to crumble into oblivion.
Turning my attention to the woman, I extended my hand, helping her to her feet. "Are you okay?" I asked, taking a moment to mend some of her wounds with swift precision. She was visibly shaken, her eyes wide with disbelief and fear.
"Go inside; I will take care of these pests," I reassured her, urging her towards safety. She needed no further encouragement, quickly making her way to the door, eager to escape the nightmare unfolding.
With the woman now safe, I activated my wrist-mounted stinger, firing a grappling line into the night sky. My ascent to the top of the Spectrum was swift, giving me a strategic vantage point over the battlefield below. The parking lot below was a stark contrast of snowdrifts glowing under the street lights and the slick, dark asphalt. The scene set a perfect stage for an ambush.
Surveying the area, I noticed several dozen vampires swarming towards the arena, a menacing force intent on wreaking havoc. They effectively cut off any potential escape for the unwary, some even targeting latecomers. The battle lines were drawn, and as I prepared to leap into action, I knew the night would demand every ounce of my skill and courage. This was more than a fight; it was a stand against the darkness, a defense of those who could not protect themselves.
Exhaling into the frosty air, my breath formed a misty cloud before me. "Hmm, the odds seem a bit uneven," I mused, eyeing the gathering threat with only my trusty D'k tahg in hand. After a moment of contemplation, and then, with a determined nod, I declared, "I think, I am going to need something a touch more... cutting edge."
I lifted my D'k tahg, admiring its lethal simplicity for a beat before realizing the gravity of the situation warranted more formidable weaponry. With a flourish of my hand and a focus on my intent, I summoned my Bat'Leth directly from the weapon locker of the Lair. As the D'k tahg found its way back to its holster, my hand grasped the newly arrived hilt of the Bat'Leth with practiced ease.
Swinging it in my left hand, the way a Klingon warrior would, a sense of fierce readiness surged through me. "This will do nicely," I smirked, filled with anticipation. Without another thought raising my Bat'leth so that its two blades were over my head, I leaped from the vantage point of the Spectrum Stadium, cutting through the cold night air with a warrior's cry, "Let the battle begin!"
With my Bat'Leth poised for battle, raised high above my head, I descended like justice incarnate. The blade cut through the air with a Schlick as it effortlessly parted the fabric of the atmosphere before finding its home in the enemy's flesh. The blade made contact with the vampire's back in a swift, decisive blow, carving a message of salvation for the mortals caught in its terror. The family seized the moment, scattering to safety under the cloak of chaos I wrought.
Upon my landing, the impact reverberated through the ground, shaking loose snowflakes into a blinding whirlwind around us. I was the only one not affected by the snowblindness. I could hear the demon's cry in pain. It was fleeting as I executed a swift, upward thrust with the lower blades of my Bat'Leth. In a singular, fluid motion, the vampire's head was severed, leaving no trace but powdered remains scattering in the wind, a dark contrast against the pristine snow.
The night air was filled with the screams of the people being attacked by vampires. I stood ready, knowing that each fallen foe brought me closer to the heart of darkness encircling us. Tonight, the battle was mine, but the war was far from over. The battle was far from over as it raged on, a maelstrom of chaos and destruction that threatened to engulf everything in its path. The vampires, beastly figures born of night and nightmare, turned their malevolent gazes upon me. Their eyes were like pits of fire set deep in their deathly pale faces, fangs bared in anticipation of bloodshed. Clad in black, their leather jackets melded with the shadows, a feeble attempt to intimidate and obscure their movements. Yet, against my Earthly powers and the might of my Bat'Leth, their sinister guises were futile. Two of them managed to avoid most of my swings, but they both ended up with broken arms. They whimpered and bled as they ran for cover.
With each slash and spin, I wielded the Bat'Leth with unparalleled mastery, its blade singing a deadly tune through the cold night air. The vampires, in their arrogance, fell one by one-- their flesh and bones laid bare, their dark blood staining the snow beneath us. Limbs were severed, and bodies torn asunder as I danced through them with the grace and ferocity of a storm unleashed. Nimbly, I maneuvered the Bat'Leth, transitioning from attack to defense and back with a fluidity that belied its lethal intent. Those daring enough to encroach upon me were swiftly met with their demise, their heads severed from their bodies, watching in mute horror as their existence crumbled to dust. I could not even begin to count how many vampires met their end. My Bat'leth was getting a serious workout this night and was passing with flying colors. All I knew was that the formerly lovely snow had turned into a horrifying mass of vampire fragments. Among the chaos, a figure sought to exploit the tumult--a female vampire, her presence announced not by footsteps but by a predatory grace. Adorned in a striking red ensemble that contrasted sharply with the night, her beauty was as captivating as it was lethal, framed by the cascade of her black hair and the allure of her smile. She approached with confidence, her steps silent but deadly, convinced she could catch me unaware. But I was not so easily fooled. Her attempt to outflank me was anticipated, her movements read and countered with the precision of a warrior attuned to battle's ebb and flow. With a deft twist and the practiced might of my arm, I turned her ambition against her. Before she could realize her error, her body met the unforgiving edge of my crescent blade, her form dissolving into the night as just another specter lost to the wind. In between the slashing of blades, I held out my left hand firing off mini stakes taking out vampires that my Bat'Leth missed. The battlefield, once pristine in its snowy mantle, and slick black asphalt was now marred by the remains of those who had fallen. A grim tableau painted with fragments of the vanquished. On this night, the Bat'Leth and stingers have proven not to be just weapons, but a relentless harbinger of justice, passing its gruesome test with resounding vindication. The snow, once a symbol of tranquility, now bore witness to the ferocity of my stand--a chilling reminder of the night's terrors and the singular warrior who stood against them.
Moving through the parking lot I knew I had to keep going not only to defend the stadium but there was a wrestling match I was supposed to be attending and I didn't want to miss it. I would come upon the encroaching vampires, my Bat'Leth swiftly ensured their demise. The patrons, witnessing the spectacle, didn't hesitate for a second; they knew their best chance of safety lay within the fortified walls of the Spectrum Stadium. I watched their retreat, a silent guardian hoping for their safe passage. In the lull that followed, I allowed myself a moment's respite, lifting my Bat'Leth in a solemn salute. Its blade gleamed under the moonlight--an unspoken tribute to the night's fierce battle. Yet, the fighter within me stirred, eager for the next challenge. "Enough play, get back to work," I admonished myself, reigniting my zeal as I soared into the parking lot, seeking out the shadows where my foes lurked.
Navigating through the desolate expanse of the parking lot, my eyes caught movements in the distance--vampires, but frustratingly beyond my physical reach. "They are also too far away for my wrist-mounted stingers to work," I mused. A smirk played upon my lips as an idea took shape."Thankfully, I possess alternative techniques at my disposal," I declared with a confident tone.
"I might as well go elemental on these pests," I chuckled, tapping into resources beyond the mere physical. Raising my right hand to the heavens, I became a conduit for the tempest brewing above. With a dramatic gesture, I summoned a cascading arc of lightning, directing its raw power toward the unsuspecting vampires below. The initial strike seared through the night, finding its mark and engulfing multiple vampires in its electrifying embrace as they navigated the parking lot's maze.
While some managed to evade the lightning's touch, others weren't so fortunate, suffering a secondary fate as the electric current found them through proxy. Not willing to let distance hinder my campaign, I extended my wrist, deploying a new arsenal--vampire-specific stingers. These formidable projectiles, laced with garlic and silver nitrate, sailed through the air. Striking their targets with precision, they caused the vampires to implode upon impact, their existence extinguished in a spectacular, albeit gruesome display.
In this night of relentless confrontation, my duty as a guardian became a dance of light and shadow, a harmonious blend of ancient martial prowess and the unleashed fury of the elements. Each vampire that fell by my hand or by my command brought a grim satisfaction, a step closer to cleansing the night of its terrors.
As I stood, poised and ready for whatever the night had left to throw at me, I found myself encircled by five eager vampires. Each one lunged towards me, their hands reaching out to grasp me, a collective intent to overpower me evident in their actions they did prevent me from using my Bat'leth. Despite the imminent threat, a smirk found its way across my face, amusement dancing in my eyes. "My, you vamps are quite forward," I commented, my voice laced with mischief as an evil grin spread across my face. "Oh, alright, if you insist, I suppose we can go a couple of rounds."
With a strategic push from my left foot, I propelled myself into motion, spinning around with such force that I became a vortex, pulling the vampires into my whirlwind. Their cries cut through the night as we spun together in this deadly dance. One by one, their grip loosened, unable to withstand the centrifugal force that I commanded. And like that, all five vampires were sent hurtling through the air, their flight ending as they plunged into the chilling embrace of the Delaware River. "What a fantastic dance, vampires. You truly make for excellent dance partners," I called out to them, a playful taunt hanging in the cold night air.
Feeling a touch of theatrical gratitude for their participation in our impromptu performance, I mused aloud, "It would be quite rude of me not to thank you for that electrifying dance. Perhaps a charge is in order?" With a flick of my wrist and an upward gesture, I beckoned the sky's fury, directing a lightning bolt to dance between the clouds and then straight into the water where they had fallen. The river lit up with the electric discharge, a fitting crescendo to our dance.
Chuckling at the outcome, I couldn't resist one final jest, "I had a feeling you guys would get a real charge out of that." Their demise was sealed, their ashes swiftly carried away by the river's flow, an ephemeral reminder of our dance now past. The night reclaimed its stillness, the thrill of the encounter lingering in the air--a moment of levity amidst the eternal struggle against darkness.
In the frigid darkness of the snow-covered parking lot, I faced them--the damned vampires. Their eyes glinted crimson, fangs dripping with hunger. But me? Oh, I was something else entirely.
The wind howled, carrying with it the scent of freshly fallen snow and the coppery tang of vampire blood. My fingers tightened around the Bat'leth's hilt, its cold metal reassuring against my skin. The odds were stacked against me--too many vamps, too little time--but I wasn't one to back down. Not when there was a chance to turn the tide.
"I guess I go for a spin," I quipped, my voice dripping with sarcasm. A wicked grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. With the Bat'leth held just so--blade extended, defiance etched into every curve--I began to twirl. Faster and faster, until I blurred into a cyclone of steel and fury.
The parking lot was transformed. Snowflakes danced around me, caught in the vortex of my rage. The vampires lunged, teeth bared, but they were no match for the Tasmanian Devil in their midst. I sliced through them like a scythe through wheat, each swings a symphony of vengeance. Their screams echoed, lost in the whirlwind.
And then, with a final flourish, I halted. Just before the outer wall of the Spectrum Stadium, I stood--a lone figure against the night. The vampires lay in heaps, their ashen remains scattered like confetti. The air crackled with residual energy, and my breath misted in the cold. I glanced back at the parking lot, where multiple vamps had spontaneously burst into dust. Their crimson eyes were now dulled and defeated. "Guess I'm not the only one who spins things around," I murmured, wiping a splatter of blood from my cheek.
But I didn't have time to delay, vampires were scaling the walls. Placing my Bat'Leth on my back. I fired a grapple line to the roof. In a short yank, I was going up. As I went up I fired stingers from my free left hand striking several vampires with mini stakes and a mixed solution of holy water and garlic taking them out as I assailed into the air going to the roof. One vampire jumped off the side and tackled me in mid-air forcing the grapple line to snap sending us back to the ground on an express route. I quickly pointed my hand down and a gust of wind blew out allowing me to change directions and let the vampire hit the ground at full force while I was hung in mid-air. Before the night walker could recover I sent a fireball his way incinerating the vampire before it knew what happened. He didn't go empty-handed, he managed to get my jaw with his nails taking some of my skin with him. With my grapple line gone and it now known that Guardian can fly I proceeded back to the roof. One vampire screamed, "What can't you do?" I sarcastically remarked, "I can't hear you the wind is too strong,"
Inside the Spectrum Stadium:
The wrestling match between John Cena and Randy Orton was in full swing as the two gladiators grappled. Brian was having the time of his life watching those wrestlers play their dance.
Howie was all smiles when he looked around, noticing that their group was missing someone. tapping Brian's arm, "Bri, where's Mike?" Howie tried to get his voice over the screams of the crowd.
Brian looked over, unsure who was trying to get his attention, when he saw Howie staring back at him, "What is that, Howie?"
Howie strained his voice, trying to get above the crowd, He asked again, "Where is, Mike,"
"Mike had to take care of business, I am sure he will get back soon," Brian said, not all concerned.
On top of the Spectrum Stadium:
In a bit of déjà vu, I sent my Bat'leth back to the Lair in exchange for the Mek'Leth, better suited for the close quarters of fighting on the roof of Spectrum Stadium. The high winds were fierce and unrelenting, swirling all around us. With snow on the ground, the winds were also bitterly cold; if not for my earthly powers, frostbite would have set in by now. The vampires, of course, were unaffected by the frozen winds. I was bleeding profusely, having taken several blows to the face and abdomen. My mask and hood were covered in sweat, blood, and tears from where vampires had clawed at me. I had been ganged up on several occasions but managed to get the upper hand, though not without sustaining injuries. I had bested five or six of the night crawlers, losing count as they came at me from all sides. In another bout of déjà vu, a vampire leaped over me, revealing that the spot I was standing on wasn't as stable as I had believed. We crashed through the roof, plummeting down into the Spectrum. With a vampire beneath me, I noticed wrestlers below and sent a gust of wind to push them aside just in time to avoid being hit by the falling debris, hero, and vampires. I slammed into the rink, my right arm cutting through it. I screamed in agony, not only from the wood and metal scraping against my arm but also from several vampires landing on my back.
In the stands, Brian witnessed an extraordinary and terrifying spectacle unfold. The love of his life, known to the world as Guardian, along with a horde of vampires, came crashing into the wrestling ring. Their entrance was nothing short of cinematic, sending shockwaves through the arena. The chaos momentarily paused as John Cena and Randy Orton took command, their voices bellowing through the confusion, urging for the ring to be evacuated. But all eyes were quickly drawn back to the epic showdown that commenced at the center ring.
Guardian, armed with his Mek'Leth, moved with precision and lethal grace. Mike managed to sever a vampire's head cleanly, watching dispassionately as it dissolved into nothingness. However, the tide of battle threatened to turn as one particularly bold vampire lunged for Mike, their eyes locked in a contest of wills over the prized Klingon weapon. In the meantime, three of its comrades diverted their bloodlust toward the unsuspecting crowd, escalating the terror.
From his vantage point, Brian's heart raced, fear gripping him as he saw the vampire wrench the Mek'Leth from Guardian's grasp and turn it against him. The blade, now a traitor in the hands of the enemy, found its mark. Guardian's mask hid his features, but the sudden, silent gasp, his mouth agape in a silent scream, conveyed volumes about the excruciating pain endured. Brian felt a helpless horror wash over him, witnessing Guardian--his partner, his Mike--wounded so grievously.
The battle in the ring was not just a physical confrontation; it was a palpable, heart-wrenching drama unfolding before Brian's eyes. Each movement, each strike, carried the weight of their shared life and love. The sight of Mike in agony, betrayed by his own weapon, was a brutal reminder of the risks Guardian faced, night after night, in his unwavering commitment to protect.
Time became my adversary as swiftly as the demon itself; there was no moment to marshal my defenses before the vampire struck with alarming speed. The agony that followed was beyond description--an excruciating betrayal as my own Mek'Leth was turned against me. The subsequent uppercut, delivered with brutal precision, sent me hurtling through the air, only to meet a harsh embrace with the rink's side guard post. The collision was marked by a symphony of violence, the cacophony of metal, and the sinister chorus of my bones protesting the impact. I found myself sprawled face-down on the matted surface of the rink, a fallen warrior momentarily stilled.
Lying there, the urge to rise was overwhelming, a primal directive to stand and fight, to protect. Yet, wisdom dictated a momentary pause--allowing the Earth below me, time to mend the wounds that threatened to keep me grounded. In this forced respite, the weight of my responsibility pressed heavily upon me. I was acutely aware that every second spent in recovery was a second; these monstrous beings were not feeding on the innocent.
The pain, both physical and from my temporary helplessness, was a grim reminder of the stakes for which I fought. I was all that stood between these vampires and their descent into a frenzy of bloodlust. My resolve hardened, knowing that my ability to rise and fight once more was not just for my own sake, but a beacon of hope against the darkness. The urgency of my mission, the lives hanging in the balance, fueled my determination. I was the bulwark against the night, and I would not fail them.
The moment Brian saw his partner, immobile and vulnerable, on the matted floor of the rink, a wave of shock crashed over him. He had witnessed Mike's battles, had seen him emerge victorious time and again, but never had he seen him so grievously injured. Not since the harrowing day when Mike had intervened to save Rob Thomas from the clutches of the dangerously obsessed fan, Erica Gracen. That day, Mike had plunged into the churning waters of the ocean, later to emerge with the enigmatic power of Sol, had he appeared so perilously close to defeat.
Watching the vampires move past, their attention now turning with a predatory focus toward the gathered spectators, Brian's heart raced with uncertainty. Fear for Mike's well-being tangled with a rising dread for the safety of the innocent bystanders now in the path of danger. The sight of Mike, usually so formidable, now lying defeated, stripped Brian of any sense of security. The stark reality of their vulnerability, of Mike's mortality, hit him with an intensity he wasn't prepared for.
In this moment of chaos and looming threat, Brian found himself paralyzed by a potent mix of fear, concern, and an overwhelmingly helpless urge to protect not only Mike but everyone threatened by the encroaching darkness. The urgency of the situation called for action, yet, with Mike incapacitated, Brian confronted the daunting realization of how much rested on the shoulders of his partner, the Guardian, and what his absence meant in the face of such peril.
The Earth tried to heal me as quickly as she could, and I felt her coming to my aid. To get my Mek'Leth out of me, I propped myself up slightly. I fell back down and scrunched my eyes, trying to block out the pain, crying in agony, as best as I could. I was severely injured tonight. It was taking the Earth a long time to heal me.
Brian's hope was renewed when he saw Mike get up just to remove his sword from his gut, but when he saw Guardian fall back and not get back up quickly, that hope was gone.
Despite the overwhelming pain, I felt rather than heard a presence standing beside me, the hand on my back confirming there was indeed a person attempting to lend their support, and I could sense the person's strength through their touch. That was all I could come up with. Every other sensation was drowned out by the pain in my stomach.
"Man, you need to get up," His voice was barely audible in my ear. I tried to put a name to the voice, but the pain drowned everything out. It was John Cena who said, "I knew I remembered you." I could sense his presence. He had to be crouching over me. "I am not leaving you, man," he assured me.
A guttural groan escaped my lips as I willed my battered body to respond, to rise and meet the challenge head-on. Yet, the energy required eluded me; the Earth, though generous in its healing, had yet to replenish my fully spent reserves. John's presence and words of solidarity provided a glimmer of comfort, a reminder that even in the bleakest of moments, I was not alone in the fight. But as the pain continued to cloud my senses, that reminder felt as distant as the strength I so desperately sought.
"Dude, you gotta get up or we are all going to die," the urgency in his voice compelled my eyes to snap open, despite the veil of pain that shrouded my vision. John Cena's figure loomed above me, his face etched with fear--a sight that galvanized my resolve. As my gaze drifted past him, towards the crowd, and then to a solitary figure amidst the turmoil, a spark of hope ignited within me.
In the midst of chaos, my eyes locked onto a preacher, his stance defiant as he wielded a cross like a shield against the encroaching vampires. The image kindled a spark of desperate inspiration within me--a last gamble for salvation. Harnessing the precious, recently restored energies from the Earth would leave me vulnerable, yet the decision was already made. A call to honor that could not be ignored, and I found the strength to heed it.
With a gesture that taxed my dwindling reserves, I directed John's attention towards the priest. Speaking was a Herculean task, each word heavy and laden with the metallic taste of blood. "The priest," I forced out, my voice a barely audible rasp.
John's brow furrowed in confusion as he leaned closer, trying to grasp the significance of my words. "What about him?" he queried, his tone tinged with frustration and concern.
The preacher's lone stand against the darkness with only his faith as a barrier highlighted a potential turning point. We had a chance to salvage the night, leveraging the symbolic power he wielded. But the cost to me would be great, consuming all the vitality I had fought so hard to recapture. Yet, the weight of responsibility left no room for hesitation; honor and duty propelled me forward.
Struggling against the fatigue that threatened to claim me, I feebly gestured again towards the priest, my blood-stained hand a testament to the grim severity of my condition. "What do you need me to do?" John's voice broke through the haze, urgent and filled with a willingness to act.
Gritting my teeth against the pain, I mustered every ounce of strength to convey my plea, "The priest," I managed to say again, my voice ragged with the effort. "I can save everyone, but I need that priest," each word a struggle against the pain that clawed at my consciousness.
In that critical moment, the connection between survival and the figure of the preacher became starkly evident. With every ounce of my being focused on the task at hand, I clung to the sliver of hope his presence represented. Our survival hinged on the precarious balance of faith and a desperate, daring plan.
Knowing I would not be able to tell John what I needed. In a desperate moment, knowing verbal communication was beyond my capabilities, I shifted my focus to Brian. Aware of our unique connection, I transmitted my urgent need directly to his mind: "Brian, the preacher, I need the preacher," concentrating all my energy on projecting this plea.
Brian's reaction was swift, his voice laced with panic. "Are you going to die?" he blurted out in alarm.
"No, but if he does not get to me, you will," I managed to convey, the gravity of the situation lending weight to my words.
Without hesitation, Brian turned to the priest, urgency etched in his tone. "Father, they need you at the rink," he implored.
The preacher, caught in his own battle with fear, protested, "But those demons!" His reluctance was palpable, a testament to the horror unfolding.
Meanwhile, Randy Orton, observing from a distance, understood the significance of the direction I pointed despite not grasping the full scope of our plan. Recognizing the preacher as crucial to whatever hope we had, he leaped into action, crossing the barrier and securing the priest with a decisive grip. With Randy and Brian's combined efforts, the preacher was swiftly brought to the rink's edge.
As they made their way, the rest of the Backstreet Boys, noticing Brian's determined sprint towards the danger, instinctively followed, seeking safety in unity amidst the chaos. My side, faithfully guarded by John Cena until this point, became the center of a growing assembly prepared to stand against the darkness.
In another circumstance, the sight might have sparked different emotions in Brian, but the severity of my condition, evident up close, extinguished any such thoughts. Blood had pooled beneath me, staining the rink's mat, a vivid testament to the battle waged on this ground. Brian's eyes briefly met those of his bandmates, now gathered around, a physical manifestation of solidarity and support in our dark hour.
"Guardian, we are all here," Brian declared, his voice a mix of determination and concern.
The instruction that followed was clear in Brian's mind, a directive that required faith in the unseen: "Tell John to step back and tell the priest to pray when the water starts flowing."
With a hesitance born of uncertainty but driven by trust, Brian relayed the instructions. To John, he said, "John, please step back." And to the priest, firm despite the man's palpable dread, "Father, we need you to pray when the water starts flowing."
The priest's response was a mixture of confusion and fear, "What water?" His question hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the leap of faith now required from all present. In this moment of collective peril, the convergence of courage, belief, and desperation set the stage for a confrontation that would determine not only our fates but those of the innocents we sought to protect.
My abdomen blazed with such ferocity that even the simplest movements felt Herculean. Engaged in a battle that seemed as monumental and immovable as the Titanic itself, the agony wracking my body was overwhelming. In a final act of defiance, I mustered every shred of resilience within me and, with an effort that felt like shifting the ill-fated vessel itself, managed to flip onto my back. Extending my hand with purpose, I channeled the very essence of the Earth's replenished energy, focusing it into a singular manifestation of power--a fireball.
The conjured fireball sailed through the air, striking its target--one of the fire sprinklers--setting off a cascade effect. As the water began to rain down from every active sprinkler in the Spectrum Stadium, my arm succumbed to gravity, falling heavily beside me. My physical reserves were completely depleted; darkness edged my vision as my consciousness teetered on the brink of collapse. Yet, despite the toll, a sense of accomplishment flickered within me. It had been a gambit worth every ounce of my strength.
Though the deluge could not replenish my drained vitality, it offered a temporary respite, a lifeline that tethered me to consciousness just a moment longer.
Amid the suddenly torrential downpour within the stadium, Brian, ever perceptive, grasped the desperate intention behind my actions. Turning to the priest with urgency in his voice, he implored, "Father, bless the water."
With solemn reverence, the priest complied. Lifting his cross heavenward, he invoked a blessing, "God, we consecrate this water in Your sacred name." At that moment, every droplet of water falling from the sprinklers was sanctified.
The effect was immediate and devastating to our foes. One vampire, noticing the sizzle of his own flesh, peered down in horror as his hands began disintegrating before his very eyes. His screams were the overture to his destruction as he, along with the rest of his kin, met their demise in the blessed rain.
"Guardian, you did it," Brian whispered, a mix of awe and relief in his voice as he witnessed the vampiric threat being eradicated by the sanctified water--a testament to the power of faith and desperation intertwined.
As the immediate danger passed and the vampires were no more, the priest hastily departed to seek out his loved ones, his part in this ordeal complete. Left in the aftermath, Brian turned back to me, finding me struggling for breath with the desperation of a beleaguered survivor. Without hesitation, he knelt by my side, tenderly enveloping my bloodied hand in his own-- a gesture of connection, of shared triumph and relief in the face of overwhelming odds.
The world around me blurred into a hazy tableau, my senses dulled by the twin thieves of blood loss and sheer exhaustion. A profound weakness had settled into my bones, so much so that the cool wetness soaking through my clothes went nearly unnoticed. Yet, amidst the encroaching shadows, a singular conviction held firm--I was not forsaken. The Earth, ever my silent guardian, wrapped me in an embrace only felt by the heart. Her nurturing presence sought to mend the wounds that marred my flesh, and her love was a steadfast beacon in the tumult of my pain.
In the dim periphery of my consciousness, a sense that Brian was close lingered, a comforting yet nebulous presence. The moment his hand found mine, clarity pierced the fog of my affliction. The touch was unmistakable--laden with an unspoken promise, an anchor in the storm of my suffering.
"I am here, Guardian; do not you dare leave me," Brian's voice, thick with emotion, reached me as he knelt at my side. His words, a tender plea wrapped in the resonance of a vow, echoed in the dwindling haven of my awareness.
Clasping my hands with a desperate fervor, Brian watched, his heart a tumult of helplessness and hope, as my eyes fluttered open. They sought something, anything, but couldn't find the anchor they needed in his gaze. "Guardian, I am here," he cried out, his voice breaking, a bid to tether my slipping spirit to this reality.
"Get a goddamn medic up here now!" The urgency in Orton's demand cut through the chaos, a call to action was spat towards the referee as the situation grew more dire by the second. Someone had managed to turn off the fire sprinklers.
My spirit waned, each cough bringing forth more blood, a crimson testament to my fragile state. My body, in a last-ditch effort to preserve itself, commenced a harrowing shutdown of all but the most vital functions.
Amidst the despair, a ring of solidarity formed around me as the Backstreet Boys, led by the strength of their bonds, encircled me in a protective embrace. Kevin, with the dignity borne of shared blood and trials, stood resolute. He grasped my other hand, bloodied but unyielding, a symbol of familial and fraternal unity in the face of adversity.
In this moment, on the precipice between life and darkness, the love of my friends and my partner wove a tapestry of hope, each thread a testament to the bonds that might yet pull me back from the brink.
Though my vision had failed me, the presence of my friends by my side was unmistakable--a tangible warmth amid the cold grip of pain. I could feel the collective weight of their love, prayers, pride, and concerns enveloping me, a comforting embrace that transcended the physical. As their heartfelt emotions washed over me, tears, borne of gratitude and mixed with the agony of my condition, traced paths down my cheeks. At this moment, their love was a formidable force, aiding my recovery in ways more potent than the lingering dampness of my blood-soaked attire. With what little strength I could muster, I whispered, "By your Powers Combine!" a faint invocation that, despite its weakness, carried the weight of our shared hope.
Brian, momentarily taken aback by my cryptic words, failed to grasp their intended meaning. The statement hung in the air, an enigmatic plea born of desperation and faith.
John Cena and Randy Orton, towering figures of strength and solidarity, lent their voices to the collective encouragement. "You've got friends here cheering you on, man," John asserted, his voice a resonant anchor.
Randy, ever perceptive, added, "He means you made some new friends today," clarifying the breadth of our newfound camaraderie.
"That too," John conceded, his tone adopting a solemn gravity that underscored the seriousness of our bond.
Turning my attention towards Brian, I sought to convey a message of hope and reassurance, despite my inability to vocalize. "Brian, look to the Earth; she will take care of everything," I communicated silently, a testament to our profound connection that allowed my thoughts to bridge the gap.
Brian's expression darkened with fear at the sight of my bloodied but reassuring smile. "You're not saying goodbye, are you?" he asked, a sense of dread lacing his words.
"Never, love. She is healing me," I conveyed with all the mental fortitude I could gather, seeking to soothe his fears. As I closed my eyes, surrendering to the healing embrace of the Earth and the power of the love surrounding me, I drifted into a restorative silence, buoyed by the unwavering support of those who stood by me. In the midst of darkness, their presence was a beacon of hope, a promise that I was not alone in the fight to come back from the brink.
As John caught a glimpse of the distress etched across Brian's face, he swiftly stepped in, attempting to ease his worry with a bit of news. "Brian, the medic is here," he said, his voice a mix of urgency and reassurance.
The Medic, understanding the gravity of the situation but prioritizing the patient's needs, addressed the crowd. "Sir, if you want us to save him, you must back up," he instructed, readying himself to approach.
Brian found solace in the touch of his cousin Kevin, who, with a reassuring hand on his shoulder, gently coaxed him to stand. They embraced in a familial hug, a fortress of support in a moment of uncertainty. "Mike will be fine, Brian," Kevin whispered, his words laced with the conviction that only kin could provide.
As they made way for the medical team, Brian, protective even in his angst, asserted, "Leave his mask on." His command wasn't just spoken; it was a plea, a line he drew to preserve Guardian's identity.
"We will do what we can," the Medic acknowledged, noting the request with the gravity it deserved.
The medical team, with practiced urgency, secured Guardian onto a stretcher, preparing to escort him away from the chaos that the Spectrum had become. Just then, a new figure emerged, introducing a glimmer of hope and authority. "I will take it from here, gentlemen. I thank you, but I've got it covered," said Gate McFadden, approaching with confident strides.
The Medic, taken aback by the sudden intervention, demanded, "Who the hell are you?"
Without faltering, she responded with an air of professionalism that left no room for doubt, "I am Guardian's personal physician, so please move aside so I can take him."
In this moment of crisis, the arrival of someone with both personal and professional ties to Guardian offered a beacon of hope. Brian, John, Kevin, and the rest found themselves at the intersection of fear and faith, their anxious vigil buoyed by the appearance of Dr. McFadden. Her assertive claim to Guardian's care was more than just a procedural handover; it was a promise of continued protection, a seamless extension of the love and dedication that had enveloped Guardian in his most vulnerable hour.
As the group started to make way, a request was directed towards them. "Mr. Littrell, if you and your friends could assist in getting Guardian outside, his ride is here," came the instruction. United in a purpose, Brian, alongside John Cena, Randy Orton, and the rest of their companions, orchestrated my exit. Upon catching sight of the CH-53C Sea Dragon dominating the lot, its massive silhouette casting a shadow of hope, the realization dawned on Brian--the Sea Dragon, a veritable fortress of air, awaited to whisk Guardian away to safety.
"You're not the real Gate McFadden, are you?" Kevin's query pierced the unfolding scene.
The reply was as enlightening as it was unexpected. "No, I am an emergency medical hologram that Mr. Pennock recently implemented but hadn't found an occasion to use until now. Mr. Pennock modeled me after Doctor Crusher from Star Trek," the hologram elucidated, her voice channeling the essence of the beloved character.
Orton couldn't hide his admiration. "Your boy has his own chopper."
"And a holographic doctor," AJ interjected, as they ensured Guardian's safe transition into the Sea Dragon.
The EMH declared, "Mr. Littrell and one additional person may travel with us, but no more."
Nick couldn't help but quip, "She definitely channels Doctor Crusher."
Cena, scanning the cockpit and finding it unmanned, expressed his confusion, "The helicopter is being operated by whom?"
"It flies itself if required," answered the EMH, her statement hanging in the air like a promise of futuristic marvels.
Cena's astonishment was palpable, "What?"
Brian, swelling with pride, rejoiced, "My boy is exceptionally tech-savvy."
"Seemingly," John concurred, recognition dawning.
"Who will join?" the EMH pressed. "We must depart now," she urged.
Without hesitation, Brian boarded the Sea Dragon, a beacon of hope brightening the darkened lot.
"Why not join him, Kevin?" Nick suggested.
"Are you sure?" Kevin sought confirmation, his voice weighted with concern.
"Go, man, we'll hold the fort and send our prayers for Mike," Howie encouraged, his sincerity evident.
With no time to spare, Kevin ascended into the aircraft, propelled by the urgency of the situation.
"BEATTI, initiate lift-off," commanded Brian, the name of their AI pilot sailing through the cabin.
"Affirmative, Mr. Littrell," the AI responded as the rotor's intensity surged, sending a powerful gust across the landscape. Sending loose snow up into a whirl, making the Sea Dragon momentarily vanish from view; fortunately, everyone was at a good distance.
As the Sea Dragon ascended, a collective retreat was made, leaving Cena and Orton to reflect on the night's events. "It seems your friend has derailed another solid match," Cena remarked with a smirk.
Nick defended, "I'm sure he'd apologize if he could."
"Hey, no concerns here; we're alive, and that's what counts," Cena retorted, the weight of survival eclipsing any earlier sentiment.
"And your friend is a warrior," Randy contributed, admiration lacing his words.
"That he is," AJ affirmed, eyes locked on the receding silhouette of the Guardian's chopper. "Godspeed, man," he whispered, a prayer sent aloft with the departing craft.
To be continued
This is one of my really long chapters there was too much for me to try to break up. There is much, much more to come for Guardian.
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I also recommend the following stories. It was because of them I got into writing in the first place.
"Tales of a Real Dark Knight" by authorjames "Marvel Knights" also by authorjames
"Tales of the New Phoenix" by Blake "Tales of a Superhero Band" by Leo "Tales of a Young Mutant" by Jeremi "Tales of a Thunder God" by Tony Justiss